by J. Calamy
“David Bishop?” Graves murmured. “How did you get to be so clever?”
“Nah,” Nick said, waving him off. “I pay attention is all.”
“Do you know how rare that is?” Graves said, settling back and squinting at the fire like a cat. It was hard to focus after all that walking in brisk sea air to suddenly be in a deep comfortable chair in front of a crackling little blaze in a quiet place. He glanced over at his…friend. Graves had a strong jaw, a crooked nose, and full lips. It was a handsome face, used to frowning, intimidation. The lines around his eyes all seemed to be from smiling. So maybe he isn’t as much of a son of a bitch as he seems. He said he has kids, right? He seems pretty happy now.
Leon came and set their drinks between them, along with a little steaming pile of crisp fried dough. Graves said something to him in Mandarin. Nick understood drinks and bill. A quiet exchange and a very happy Leon went back to the bar. Graves raised his drink to Nick. A thick glass tumbler with a small sphere of ice, something amber with floating flecks and a little twist of lemon rind.
“What are we drinking, Nick, old boy? Is this going to kill me?”
“It’s spicy,” is all Nick said.
“Says you, pākehā boy,” Graves replied, sounding as Kiwi as his alias. He took a sip.
“Oh shit!”
The curse made Nick laugh. It was unfeigned, a startled reaction straight past Graves’s usual filters. He didn’t seem like a man who cursed much.
“See?” Nick said.
“That is bloody good,” he said, sipping again. He held up his glass again and this time Nick tapped his against it.
“To sneaking off,” he said.
“Indeed.”
They sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the fire, enjoying their drinks.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Nick said. “Earlier I mean. I was a little worked up.”
“It’s fine,” Graves said. “This more than makes up for it. I really needed to get away. I love Jeanne but I was too tired to deal with all those oversexed rich people.”
“Aren’t you one of them?” Nick asked.
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am!” he said with a laugh. “Though I don’t live in Singapore, so maybe I see myself as a little apart.”
“Graves?” Nick asked. “Please don’t tell Jeanne what happened. I want the whole thing to just slip away.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. A gentleman’s business is his own,” Graves said, shifting in his seat to look more closely at Nick. “But I will quietly suggest through Margo that perhaps the ambassador shouldn’t be invited again.”
“You probably saved my ass,” Nick said ruefully. His sense of peace was returning, his natural good humor coming back to the surface. He felt like the race had shaken something loose.
“Perhaps I did,” Graves said. “But it was presumptuous to act without consulting you.”
“I would have beat that old man down.” Nick said musingly. “Then those soldiers he travels with would have made me into hash—if not just thrown me into jail.” It was not a pretty thought.
“I would never have allowed that to happen,” Graves said with a shake of his head.
“Thanks,” Nick said. “That is…new to me. Having someone look out for me I mean. Stick up for me like that. It’s…new. What did you say to him anyway? When you threw him against the wall?”
“Oh I don’t know…”
“Come on, tell me!”
Graves covered his embarrassment with a cough. He rolled his shoulders.
“Well, the heat of the moment and all that.”
“What did you say?” Nick insisted, tossing back the last of his drink. Graves sighed and put a hand over his face.
“I told him that if he touched you again, I would feed him to my dogs,” he said without meeting Nick’s eyes.
“Jesus Christ!”
“But I was upset!” Graves protested when Nick pushed him lightly on the shoulder.
“Lord, that explains why he made that face!” Nick said, laughing harder now.
“The things one says in those moments…”
“Did you mean it?” Nick asked, only half serious. Graves rubbed his chin and rolled his head on his shoulders. He tapped his cane on the floor a moment before answering.
“I believe I did,” he said finally. He turned toward Nick, and the fire reflected in his glasses. His voice was still smooth, but there was a cold snarl underneath that made Nick warm right down to his toes. But then Graves shook his head, grinning again and the moment passed. Nick relaxed.
“So, you have dogs?” he asked.
“I do. Big mean ones who eat pushy old perverts for breakfast,” Graves said with a wink. “Actually, they are a trio of fools named Honey, Sugar, and Baby. No matter how big they are, I doubt they would even know how to bite someone.”
They laughed and the talk turned to dogs and animals in general. Graves said he hated horses, something that had limited his social mobility in England. Nick revealed how he had been attacked by a rooster when he was six—leading to a permanent fear of birds. His cheeks were warm and ached with smiling. It was good to have someone to talk to other than Jeanne. They were working their way through Leon’s special menu and had reached something called a Jade Tiger.
“And so the damn camel bit me; he bloody well bit me, right in front of everyone!” Graves was saying as Nick held his stomach laughing. “I screamed like a girl; you simply cannot imagine the sound. I thought: well there you are old boy—you can never come back to the kingdom after this.”
“And did you?” Nick asked, wheezing. “Go back I mean?”
“Never!” Graves said, signaling Leon to bring them more drinks. “Are you mad? Would you if an animal had almost bit your testicles off?”
“Hell, no,” Nick said. Leon came with another round, and Nick realized he was rounding the corner from buzzed to drunk, though Graves seemed perfectly sober.
“I’m having a really good time,” Nick said. He felt shy suddenly, but wanted to express his gratitude. “But you know you don’t have to hang out with me. There are probably people looking for you. We can go back…”
“Probably,” Graves sighed. “But to be truthful, Nick, my boy, this makes a nice change of pace for me. I am beginning to think that threatening people at parties might be my new escape plan.”
“You don’t like these things? What about that gorgeous woman you came in with?”
“Roma! She is my best friend. And so is her husband,” Graves laughed. He stood up and stretched. The silver cigarette case came out, and Nick held the joint while Graves lit it.
“Wait, so she is someone’s wife?” Nick asked incredulously. Graves cocked his head and saluted with his drink. He limped over to the piano. “What about when you had your hand up her dress…”
“I’m not saying she and I aren’t intimate on occasion,” Graves said, settling himself gingerly on the narrow bench. He tapped out a few notes and took a drag off his joint. “Her and her husband, both,” he said and paused his fingers on the keyboard, holding Nick’s eyes. A swirl of smoke drifted between them.
Something in the way he said both, and his unblinking amber eyes made the hair on Nick’s neck stand up. There was a brief stillness between them before Graves turned back to the piano. He played something soft and happy that hovered on the edge of recognition in Nick’s mind. Nick leaned against the piano where he could face Graves and still see his hands on the keys. It was interesting to watch, an extension of the big man’s thought.
“So you like both, huh?” Nick asked. Graves gave him a long slow smile that made Nick swallow.
“Omnivorous,” he purred before looking back down at the keys. Nick distracted himself by finishing his drink. He really does sound like that tiger from the Jungle Book.
“I like my women…” Graves continued. He played a few deep bluesy notes and made the universal gesture for curves. “It’s a weakness of mine. Give me a girl with curves any d
ay. Oof.” The music changed again, back to the jazz number from earlier.
“But then I like my men lean, fit, able to push back,” Graves continued with a shrug. “I suppose there is no accounting for tastes.”
Nick felt his skin flush.
“And you?” Graves asked. He didn’t look up, but Nick felt pinned to the spot anyway.
“I’ve always been with girls,” Nick said. “Never thought about it…I guess…” The I guess trailed off into a whisper. It wasn’t entirely true anyway. An image of the locker room after swim practice popped into Nick’s mind; he pushed it away. Graves never stopped his playing, but a little smile curled the corner of his full lips. Nick’s eyes skittered away to the wide brown forearms emerging from his shirt, and to his hands, and then away as the cords in his navel ratcheted tighter.
“All that is illegal here,” Nick said lamely.
“For some,” Graves said. He took a drag off their joint and exhaled in a cloud of fragrant blue smoke. His right hand kept playing.
“Laws are funny things,” he said, handing the joint to Nick. “Arbitrary, contrary, and generally uninteresting to me.”
“Must be nice,” Nick said, rolling his eyes.
“It is,” Graves said.
“Sarcasm, big guy,” Nick said. Graves continued playing, the little smile teasing his lips again. “So you’re blowing off the Russians then,” he said faintly. “What about Jeanne?”
“Jeanne and I have been together on and off for ten years,” Graves said dismissively. “I’m here to see her. And I lend my support where I can. She understands my feelings about these things. But I prefer this. I’m…” he glanced up at Nick, rolling his shoulders. “I’m having a good time. You’re more interesting than my usual…work contacts.”
“I’m flattered. What do you do anyway? What’s Scimitar Shipping?” Nick asked.
“Imports and exports,” Graves said with a shrug. “It’s less glamorous than it sounds. It just means I travel a lot.” He patted his pockets with one hand, still playing with the other. “Hang on a tic. Ah there it is—” Another gold-chased little case came out but instead of joints it had cards. He handed one to Nick who burst out laughing.
GRAVES
“Graves,” he read, turning it over in his hands. The cardstock was heavy, impossibly luxurious. The name was stamped in a neat serif font in the middle. That was all.
“No title, no phone number, no nothing,” Nick said. He tucked the card into his wallet.
“And you, Nick,” Graves said, settling into whatever song he was playing, beginning to improvise around the edges. “What do you do for fun?”
“Not much, to be honest,” Nick confessed. He saw the women at the bar watching them. Leon was beaming. He clearly approved of Nick’s addition to their little club. “It’s been kind of a strange year for me. Bob got me the chaplain’s assistant job at the embassy, and then he left almost right away. So I was kind of left…you know. Sorting mail and writing pointless reports.”
“Sounds as glamorous as my job,” Graves laughed. There was a knock and Leon let in a couple on a date, tucked close together. Nick recognized them from other times, and they nodded to him as well.
“Your job may not be glamorous, but at least you to get to see other places,” Nick said, helping himself to an olive. Leon had brought out a succession of little bites to go with their drinks.
“Is it true Americans don’t travel?” Graves asked.
Nick spit out the olive pit, nodding.
“Mmm, so everyone says the big party will be in Hong Kong?” he said. “Jeanne says she is taking me. Which will make exactly two stamps on my passport.”
“I wish I could go to Hong Kong for Chinese New Year’s,” Graves said. “The fireworks are incredible.”
“Why can’t you go to Hong Kong?” Nick asked. The song Graves was playing took on a more plaintive note. Sad and slow.
“Personal issues,” he said. “There is someone there I absolutely cannot run into if I want to keep a whole skin.”
Nick laughed, imagining someone like Graves, big as a bear, who had threatened a man’s life—too scared to go to somewhere.
“So she’s like the camel who tried to bite your nuts off!” he laughed.
Graves peeled out of his jacket. He rolled up his cuffs and bent to his task. Nick’s eyes dragged to his muscled forearms, the width of his hands, the way his fingers moved on the keys. His skin was light brown, with a reddish cast. Under the lamps it looked impossibly warm against his pale blue shirt. Nick couldn’t look away.
“Sir?” Came a voice behind them and Graves turned and smiled at the young man who had come in with his date.
“It’s our anniversary,” he said shyly. “Will you play ‘Starlight’ for us?”
“With pleasure,” Graves said, his face lighting up.
The couple danced and Leon brought them more drinks.
“Bring him anytime,” he murmured to Nick. “We can call him whatever name he wants. Tell him he can come here anytime. To get away.”
Nick grinned and squeezed Leon’s shoulder. Sometimes he forgot that Leon was as deep in Singapore’s lore as Jeanne. Of course, he knew who Graves was.
Graves radiated happiness. Nick had never realized what that term meant before. But it was a kind of heat, a glow that went from the big man’s laughing face as he took requests, the hands on the keys, the music he made. Everyone around them felt it. Simple joy, filling the little bar right to the tin ceiling.
The couple danced, and one of the women dragged the chairs out of the way and pulled Nick out as well. A few others arrived and soon enough there was someone singing, and Graves passing little joints and taking requests and laughing at whatever Leon was saying. Nick thanked his parents for forcing him to go to cotillion as a boy and danced with every woman who asked, as happy as he could remember being in ages. His bow tie was long since pulled out and hanging loose, jacket thrown over the back of the piano with Graves’s. Their eyes met as Nick brought him another drink. He grabbed Nick’s hand and kissed his palm before dropping his hand back to the keys. Nick shivered. He’s flirting and happy, and I am too. Never forget this. You and the richest guy in Singapore in a hideaway micro-bar—playing old dancehall numbers after racing a Bugatti on the Grand Prix Circuit.
If he lived to be a hundred, Nick knew he would never forget.
*
They left Leon’s with Nick’s arm around Graves’s waist, trying to walk with some kind of balance to where the Bugatti was hidden. When they got there, Graves pulled Nick into a rough hug that Nick returned with interest. It just felt…good.
“Nick, this was the nicest time I’ve had in ages,” Graves said. “If you weren’t so munted, I’d kiss you for it.”
“Mmmmmunted.” Nick snorted, rubbing his face thoughtlessly against Graves’s chest. “Munted? I mean. Who says that?”
“Nick?” Graves said. Nick made a muffled humph but made no effort to move. “Should I be kissing you?”
“Yeah,” was all Nick could manage. Graves was hard. He was hard and making no effort to hide it, pushed up against Nick over the car like this. And Nick…liked it. He pushed his own hips forward, without even meaning to. Graves pulled back.
“Maybe not,” Graves laughed. “You are far too drunk. Let’s get back to the yacht and let you sleep this off.”
They were quiet on the way back to the ship. Nick gathered his courage and put his hand on Graves’s wrist, the bare gap between his rolled cuff and where his hand rested on the stick shift. Nick held loosely, letting his palm rub every time Graves shifted gears. They reached a red light and Graves turned his wrist and lifted Nick’s hand to his mouth, a light press of lips on Nick’s knuckles before he had to shift again. They didn’t look at each other, but Nick felt peaceful inside. Graves seemed the same, humming to himself and smiling softly. It felt good. Really good.
He’s twice my age. He carries a gun. He is astronomically out of my league. He’s stupid
big. I want him. He’d take care of me. And I’d take care of him too.
*
Graves breathed slow and steady, focusing on keeping his breaths even, trying to keep his heart from clambering out of his chest. Nick was drunk; that was true. But Graves didn’t get the feel of someone flirting just because he was drunk. He thought, he thought, Nick was serious, and he wanted to be kissed. And the idea had Nelson Graves sweating through his bloody shirt.
He is beautiful, by God. I would have happily nailed him to the hood of the car in another setting. What was another setting though? If Nick was sober? No. Nick had never been with a man; that was clear enough. Was that it? No. Well, yes. But that wasn’t only it. There was something about Nick that troubled him. Something the boy was hiding. He was…injured in some way he thought he recognized. It made him feel protective. My God, I almost killed that man at Jeanne’s party. The idea of Nick being touched by that filthy, unworthy piece of… He shook the thought away.
Nick’s hand on his wrist was warming Graves right down to his belly. He glanced over repeatedly, studying the boy’s profile as he watched out the windows. Just shy of too pretty. A pouty lower lip that made Graves want to bite. Crooked nose—broken somewhere. And his eyes. The blue of them evoked every cliché Graves could think of.
And freckles. God, I will never hear the end of this. What will Kauri say? His brother, his real brother, was back in New Zealand and had teased him often enough about his tastes.
He forced his eyes back to the road. If he wrecked the Bugatti, Bishop would shoot him. Would shoot him dead in the street. But still. He glanced over again and Nick caught him, a mischievous smile in the corner of his bloody damned lovely mouth.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” he said. Everything. I want to take you to bed. I want you to make me laugh and insult me and keep me from slipping too far down this dark road I am on. I think you could. I think it could be good with you. I think I could be. Might even get out of the game for a bit. Just a little. Rest. God knows we could use it. It would be good.
